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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26821954">don't know what i wanted</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheHeckIsGoingOn/pseuds/WhatTheHeckIsGoingOn'>WhatTheHeckIsGoingOn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, I'm Sorry, Mentions of Panic Attacks, Mentions of Suicide, References to Depression, it's actually just me being sad, salvia path: i was all over her</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:20:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,408</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26821954</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheHeckIsGoingOn/pseuds/WhatTheHeckIsGoingOn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He was the weird kid that got panic attacks, that's what Janus had said. That was the only thing this stranger knew when he had met him with a mutual friend; and it would probably be the only thing people would remember about him anyways.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>don't know what i wanted</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So he had been right- it would get bad again.</p>
<p>- Not that he had actually expected for things to work out for him; for something in his life to actually go right for once.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Because he was Virgil Sanders, and who would even know that loser who had to do year 11 again because they fucked up the last time around?</p>
<p>He was the weird kid that got panic attacks, that's what Janus had said. That was the only thing this stranger knew when he had met him with a mutual friend; and it would probably be the only thing people would remember about him anyways.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>- If they even did, of course.</p>
<p>Whereas people who took a year abroad get a page dedicated to them, kid's who get stuck in the same year don't.</p>
<p>And in ten years? When one of his former classmates would take out their yearbook? There won't be pictures of him, no mentions of him; unless someone dug deep into their thousands of pictures on their phones, maybe spotting him in the background.</p>
<p>Nameless, faceless, forgotten.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not to mention that he hadn't even been able to integrate himself into his 'new' graduation year.</p>
<p>Until previously he had had at least a history; now all he is was Virgil, the kid who had a panic attack in bio, the kid who got upset when a teacher didn't recognize him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had been three months. Three months of school and he had made exactly three friends- two of them being people that had only started to spend time with him because they had happened to be seated next to him.</p>
<p>And Roman?</p>
<p>-Yeah, the boy he had randomly fallen in love with, after swearing on his first day of school that he would hate him for no reason. The boy who greeted him four times a day, who spoke about poetry Virgil didn't understand or even know, who texted him at night.</p>
<p>Why would someone so good for him actually like him back, when he couldn't even stay happy long enough to send a smiley face?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Virgil had found himself tempted to ask his parents to go to therapy again, but had quickly shut that idea down after remembering what had happened the last time around.</p>
<p>After years they had their good child back, why would they believe that there was something going seriously wrong?</p>
<p>For the first time in years, he tried to look different than he felt; he wore sweaters, his hair in different styles, wore colourful clothing.</p>
<p>His grades were amazing, he was a 'delight in class', did every extra work offered to him- he even got his first A- in Maths in <em>years</em>.</p>
<p>- It didn't matter that his eyes were still dead. Or that he hadn't even felt sick to the core with happiness, even though that he now had proof that <em>he wasn't stupid</em>, that he wasn't useless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had <em>tried</em>, for fuck's sake!</p>
<p>No matter how much it had felt like <em>utter bullshit</em>; he had exercised, had taken care of himself, had spent time with people. He had taken it slow when things had been overwhelming, had allowed himself to be gentle when he failed.</p>
<p>Half-assed assignments had been handed in instead of not doing them at all. He had brushed his teeth for a few seconds instead of completely neglecting them because he just couldn't be bothered.</p>
<p>- And yet, somehow, he was here again, <em>alone</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before he had started his first day, he had thought that he would have his friends to rely on for at least another while.</p>
<p>After all, they would only graduate in March, meaning that he would have had enough time to find new ones before his old ones would inevitably disappear out of his life. He had months.</p>
<p>- But it turns out it's hard to keep up with things you're not a part of anymore. Breaks in which you meet up turn into sitting around wishing to be invisible, the hugs turn shallow, the texts only involve paying your friend the money for your shared Spotify.</p>
<p>It hurt, because he hadn't even known how much he had been relying on them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he had never thought that he would actually miss the small interactions.</p>
<p>No amount of sweating hands, words mulled over for weeks afterwards, or weird things done, could be worse than the sinking realisation at 7pm, in the middle of doing your homework, that you've only talked to two people that day.</p>
<p>- Both being an exchange of 'hi'.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Last year he had felt invisible. This year he thought that he might have actually died, his eternal damnation consisting of having to relive his worst year in different ways over and over again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had been silly of him to believe that it would actually be his year, now that he had nothing to lose anymore. That maybe people would actually like this hollow version of him, that his somehow good grades would keep him happy, that him falling in love would give him enough serotonin to struggle through.</p>
<p>- But yet again, the only thing that got him late at night was the dark; amplifying his worst thoughts, mocking him with all their might, challenging him to a fight that he wasn't sure he was strong enough to win.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was unfair.</p>
<p>What made him deserve to feel this way, to be this broken? He had done nothing wrong- or had he?</p>
<p>- He couldn't even look at himself in the mirror, expecting to be met with this stranger who somehow displayed a perfectly put together façade.</p>
<p>Who noticed the stutter in his voice anyways, when his posture and face spoke of utter confidence?</p>
<p>And why would anyone question him, when he was smiling while making jokes and remarks that were just concerning?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>- Not that it made a difference, anyways.</p>
<p>He hadn't smiled through the jokes last year. Hadn't brushed his hair or changed his clothes in a week. Didn't turn up for school, failed all his exams.</p>
<p>And somehow none of that had been concerning either.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Making that call, back in December had been his only attempt at saving himself; hoping against all odds that maybe someone could help him, would <em>stop him</em> from what he had been planning to do.</p>
<p>- It hadn't been worth it in retrospect. It  hadn't been worth the arguments, the train rides, the time spent wondering why this so-called <em>professional</em> wasn't doing anything when it was painfully obvious that Virgil was <em>not doing okay. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>And why hadn't his teachers said anything?</p>
<p>Surely he couldn't have been that invisible for them to go unnoticed being absent all the time, failing each and every subject. He knew that they probably had so many things going on in their own lives probably- but he had hoped that maybe someone would care enough to notice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So when he had taken those pills, that night in February, he had seriously believed that this would be it.</p>
<p>His grades were below average, his friends weren't really talking to him anymore, and his relationship with his parents was as bad as always.</p>
<p>He had even cleaned out his room to make it easier for them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it turns out, a bunch is not always enough.</p>
<p>- That's why whenever someone asked him now why he was in year eleven again, he would shrug, and point out his 'sickness' back in January.</p>
<p>Why bother telling anyone, when nobody had missed him the next day; when he had hoped against all odds that his day was only so foggy because he was actually dying.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was back.</p>
<p>He'd have to face it; of course he wouldn't be anyone's first choice now- so why would Roman actually like him back? Him, Virgil, who failed a suicide attempt that no one even knew of and was now shamefully being labelled the stupid kid.</p>
<p>And why would anyone believe him if he came forward about it now? He'd been fine, back then, hadn't he. After all, it didn't land him in the hospital.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Virgil, Virgil Sanders.</p>
<p>That was what he kept writing on his test papers, his notebooks; the name that kept losing more of its meaning every month that passed after that Monday night in February. It started feeling as unreal as the morning after it, the dread of existence seeping into his every bone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But maybe one day it would lose enough of its meaning for him to forget.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>what was that quote about having to experience things in order to write about them? because i could've lived without experiencing this. <br/>shoutout to the asshole who kept calling me 'panic attack' instead of my actual name. </p>
<p>sorry for this. <br/>if you've made it to the end, leave a comment or kudos if you've liked it, please :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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